Yellow Flowers

Yellow flowers in the passenger seat,
are the brightest thing I've ever seen. 
I used to hate Sundays because those were the days in which you died,
so every Sunday I died with you. 

Then today I looked out somebody else's window.
There was a man washing his car, he reminded me of dad.
I thought of those lazy summer days when he'd make me clean my room, 
and once done I'd lay idle in bed. 
The air blew softly in
like it did today, 
except on those days I thought you'd live forever.
You and I in my bedroom, 
feeling every emotion ever felt by a woman or a man,
warmth in the gut,
ache when you breathed out.

Evidently I was wrong. 
So now I'm afraid of being wrong again, about everything I've ever believed in.
And when it's that time for me to go on an eternal sleep,
there'll be nothing. 
No music, no beating of the heart.
No me, no you.

As a kid eternity made me cry, 
because I was afraid of never ending boredom and the emptiness of an eternal existence.
But these days I think eternal sounds ideal, if only your voice was there, 
keeping my empty boredom together. 

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